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HIGH AND LOW OR LIGHT AND DARK: The Illumination of Northern Kenya and the New Digital Divide

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Northern Kenya Enlighten

High and Low, or Down and Out?

Writing in The East African back in 1997, John Githongo described a visit to Mathare Valley. The tour began with the stone structures bordering Juja Road housing and proceeded to pass through successive strata of wood, iron sheet, and finally composite scrap and plastic houses. The number of changaa dens, incidents of criminal activity, and the flow of effluent and filth increased on the way down, directing Mr Githongo to graphically describe the descending levels of the settlement as a de facto class system.

The same relationship between elevation and socio-economic class also holds across most of the countryside. Remove several geographic zones like the narrow coastal fringe between Malindi and Diani, add the linked variable of distance from the ‘centre’ and we have a spatial equation that accurately predicts the socioeconomic status of most Kenyans. Two factors, altitude and proximity to the capital, account for why the material conditions of the country’s rural dwellers become incrementally meaner as one moves down and away from Nairobi.

This allows us to assume with a reasonable degree of confidence that indicators like economic opportunity, household income, educational standards, access to social services, environmental vulnerability, daily calorie intake, access to electricity, and other factors like insecurity will correlate inversely as one moves away from the center and down the country’s ecological gradient.

For example: we can expect people in Machakos to be better off than those in Mbeere, that farm incomes are likely to be higher around Nyahururu than Siaya; and that households in Trans-Nzoia or Chavakali will be wealthier than those on similar-sized farms in Voi. When altitude is similar, distance from the centre comes into play. This indicates conditions in Vanga should be marginally better than in Kiunga while residents of Wundanyi are most likely better off than those in Marsabit although both are high altitude (2300 meters) settlents.

Two factors, altitude and proximity to the capital, account for why the material conditions of the country’s rural dwellers become incrementally meaner as one moves down and away from Nairobi.

The interactive effect of these variables intensifies upon passing the extended arc demarcating Kenya’s highland-lowland interface. The lowlands are often called ‘Kenya B’ due to their isolation. In Africa, spatial separation was a condition to be avoided at all costs. In many societies, banishment from the group, not execution, was the ultimate punishment. Although Westerners may go to great lengths to seek it out – in Africa, there is no splendour in isolation: spatial separation incubates vulnerability in the face of unpredictable dangers and environmental risk while increasing transaction costs.

Yet this was precisely the sentence meted out to the inhabitants of Kenya’s rangelands at the onset of colonialism. The colonial regime erected administrative and economic barriers that transformed spatial separation into a de jure state of economic seclusion.

It is otherwise logical to assume that lower and less predictable rainfall is the single-most important determinant explaining conditions on both sides of the arc. Insofar as rural productive output is largely a function of rainfall, it forms a co-linear relationship with the altitude variable in our equation. But this was not exactly the case before; higher returns to labor made pastoraists the masters of the precolonial economy. As subsequent developments illustrated, in the regions beyond the zones of rain-fed agriculture, state policy became the more critical factor, adding a third independent variable to the equation.

Kenya’s Sessional Paper No. 10 directed the newly independent government to focus investment in high potential areas. The policy framework predictably widened the socio-economic gap between agricultural and pastoral communities created by decades of colonial era spatial separation. Post-independence policy biases soon morphed into a recipe for social exclusion. The rangelands came to be regarded as economically peripheral to the national interest.

For decades, the ingrained perception that ‘we are high and you are low’ defined the natural status quo.

This structural bifurcation still drives perceptions of the country’s expansive lowland landscapes as a breeding ground for livestock rustlers, bandits, and other anti-progressive forces—even while the tourist industry banks on the images of colourful tribesmen, the north’s dramatic landscapes, and pockets of abundant wildlife. While such conditions came to describe the prevailing state of affairs in the north, this was not always the case.

The colonial regime erected administrative and economic barriers that transformed spatial separation into a de jure state of economic seclusion.

The region’s livestock specialists were the premier risk takers of the pre-colonial era. Domesticated animals were both the main repository of agricultural surplus and regional currency of exchange. As the bankers of the regional economy, like the capitalist elite of our times, they may have been proud, aloof and possessed of strong predatory instincts. But they were not separate and independent of their agricultural neighbors. Rather, access to agricultural produce was also a sine qua non for the emergence of pure pastoralism. Dietary driven demand for carbohydrates in the form of grain and the social status associated with owning livestock linked herders and farmers together. Exchange based on niche production drove the expansion of the trade networks across Kenya’s interior prior to colonization.

The acquisition of cattle and the adoption of herders’ military institutions allowed agriculturalists occupying ecologically stable highland zones to expand territorially. During the latter decades of the 19th century they integrated many Maasai, Samburu, and hunter-gather refugees created by conflicts and environmental crisis, tilting the demographic balance towards the highlands on the eve of European intervention.

The Pax Britannica subsequently froze ethnic identities and short-circuited the dynamics of ecozone symbioses. A century of change conditioned by the altitude-spatial model subsequently inverted the pre-colonial dynamic.

Now the equation is again undergoing change. The discovery of oil in Turkana and Marsabit, the LAPSSET mega-project, and the presence of various extractable resouces are now conditioning the notion that the former Northern Frontier District will be the pivot point for Kenya’s next phase of economic expansion. The region’s proposed contribution to the national economic equation presents a mix of cautionary opportunities and potential dangers for the northerners.

Drivers of Kenya’s Top-Down Development Revisited

Around a decade ago a meeting outside Kinna called ‘the University in the Bush’ brought together a collection of pastoralist political leaders, researchers, and civil society actors. During one of the informal evening sessions on the banks of the Bisanadi River, one of the MPs present summed up the discussion of imminent developments by warning, “capitalism is coming!”

The region’s livestock specialists were the premier risk takers of the pre-colonial era. Domesticated animals were both the main repository of agricultural surplus and regional currency of exchange.

He was referring to the planned infrastructural projects, investment in natural resource exploitation, and the accompanying influx of warm bodies that will swamp local communities. The group commiserated over the prospects of the impending changes overwhelming the region’s distinctive way of life.

During the previous decades Kenya’s top-down development had relegated the region’s pastoralists to the bottom rung of the country’s economic pyramid, but had left them in control of most of their economic resources while reinforcing their cultural autonomy. Now both are under threat.

The baraza on the Bisanadi also saw the penetration of capital as hardening the marginalisation and spatial isolation of the rangelands into the same kind of class system Githongo observed on the slopes of Mathare Valley.

This discussion, it should be noted, took place at a time when the constitutional reform process had generated the unwieldly Bomas draft. The draft constitution became mired in repetitive cycles of partisan obstruction and political revisionism. The problems, however, were eventually sorted out. Kenyans approved a new and more elegant constitutional dispensation, and its provisons for devolution in the form of counties based on Kenya’s original forty-seven districts came into effect following the 2013 national elections.

Even though the county governments are still young and frequently beset with internal wrangling, they have provided a platform for contesting the imposition of developmental schemes and budgetary decisions by the national government and external investors. Kenya’s national elite, in contrast, retain their old school mentality in regard to their sense of entitlement and their central planning mentality.

The prime exhibit of the latter is Vision 2030. Kenya’s blueprint for joining the ranks of emeging economies, is a pre-devolution document that highlights the role of LAPSSET for opening up remote areas of the coast and northern Kenya for development.

LAPSSET is a US$25 billion fantasy scheme drawn up by plannners in Nairobi, and a potentially attractive honey pot for international investors. The original scheme focusing on the Magogoni port and accompanying facilities and infrastructure was first offered to the Qatari royal family as the Roola Project. The exceedingly generous Memorandum of Understanding involved a 30 year B-O-T (build, operate, and turn-over) project tender that even ceded the control of labor hired to build and man the project to the investor. Some 200,000 hectares of prime Tana Delta land were included as a sweetner.

The Pax Britannica subsequently froze ethnic identities and short-circuited the dynamics of ecozone symbioses.

The Roola MoU became a casualty of the 2007 post election violence and Raila Odinga’s inclusion in the new coalition government. The Prime Minister was interested in selling an expanded version of the project that would include, among other things, a network of roads, railways, and pipelines extending into South Sudan and Ethiopia. It also included ‘state of the art’ tourist cities in Lamu and Isiolo and a new international airports. Governments in Asia and Europe and a number of private sector parties expressed their interest in the project.

The Chinese are now funding the new port while other components of the scheme are awaiting external finance. But the prospects of LAPSSET lifting off as planned are diminishing because funding LAPSSET is actually contingent on oil and other forms of energy generation, like the Lamu coal generation plant, wrapped in an investor-friendly package.

As the people of Lamu and Kenya’s north are discovering, the inhabitants of the areas affected are expected to be passive spectators until that time when they will be allowed to queue up for jobs consistent with their skills and educational background. They are also finding out that implementation of constitutional provisions for community land and redressing historical injustices, along with the new bill of rights, have been put on the back burner.

The Energy Boom Conundrum

Many observers believe that oil, renewable energy resources, and extractive industries will unlock the region’s economic potential. Unfortunately, bringing extractive industries and other capital-intense ventures like large-scale agribusiness industries into a region undergoing socioeconomic transition often ends up creating what the French analyst, Alain de Janvry, defined as disarticulated economies. Where de Janvry’s critique focused on the role of large estates in South America, the same functional dualism is emerging in the north and areas of Ethiopia where local households subsidize the external investors by absorbing the cost of maintaining and reproducing the labor force.

During the previous decades Kenya’s top-down development had relegated the region’s pastoralists to the bottom rung of the country’s economic pyramid, but had left them in control of most of their economic resources while reinforcing their cultural autonomy. Now both are under threat.

For many locals, this form of subsidization still may be preferable to hordes of outsiders snapping most of the jobs and small-scale business opportunities that will come with the new investments. In Africa, the dilemma extends to the creation of economic enclaves in general. The unrelenting cycle of conflict and criminality in the Niger delta illustrates the longer term impact of such disarticluated regional economy; the current conflict in Laikipia represents another variation.

The short but convoluted history of the Turkana wind farm is a case study directly relevant to the high and low thesis. The land for the wind farm was procured through an agreement formed between county council and local investors fronting for a consortium of international companies. The shadowy deal was brokered by the MP for Laisamis and reportedly involved ‘bonuses’ for Marsabit’s county councilors that if once attractive now look like a pittance. The 310 MW wind farm and support facilities are constructed on forty thousand hectares but some 125,000 were allocated to the project. The deal by-passed the standard land board review, and there was no formal contract or MOU catering for the interests of residents and local government alike.

The prospect of inexpensive or subsidized lighting for the locals may have compensated for the arrangements shrouded in darkness. But although the Kenya government is legally commited to purchasing the electricity—there is no provision or contract catering to inhabitants’ access to the electricity generated. The same problem followed construction of the Turkwell Dam, where local Turkana and Pokot children study by lantern light while the highpower lines overhead deliver power to downcountry consumers.

The excuse in both of these cases is that the energy producer is contracted to deliver their power to the national grid. The Lake Turkana Wind Power project web page says locals will be able access the power insofar as the electricity contributes to the supply being tapped by the government’s Rural Electrification Authority. In other words, the herders displaced by the project are supposed to take the pens and notebooks provided to local schools by the project’s corporate responsibility programme, and to keep quiet.

LAPSSET is a US$25 billion fantasy scheme drawn up by plannners in Nairobi, and a potentially attractive honey pot for international investors.

The area’s MP reportedly told his disgruntled constituents, ‘if the donkeys make too much noise, predators will come to eat them’.

In the meantime 98 per cent of the County’s inhabitants depend on wood and charcoal for fuel, with attendant environmental consequences. In addition to the loss of community land and the corresponding ecological stress, pastoralist hopes of reaping direct benefits beyond the counties’ statutory share of profits from Kenya’s energy boom are probably a mirage.

Even if Turkana Governor Jospeph Nanok suceeds in his legal battle to up counties’ share of proceeds to 10 per cent, it is naive to think oil will redefine local counties’ developmental trajectory for the better. The likelihood of a national level oil export boom is also not good in light of the reduced long-term value of crude and the billions required to build the requisite export infrastructure. Oil is no longer the black gold of the past. Some observers see oil recovering from the current glut and sustaining prices in the range of $70 per barrel for another two decades; many believe it will continue to slip, and is unlikely to rise above $25 per barrel after 2025.

The age of carbon has peaked and is being dispaced by the new electric economy. Renewable energy sources and power storage technologies transforming the international energy industry have reduced the world’s spending on oil by US$2 trillion over the past decade. The auto industry is another harbinger of things to come. Today’s electric vehicles halve the maintenance costs of petrol and diesel vehicles because their engines and drivetrains use 200 parts where internal combustion engines have 2,000; the expected lifespan of the typical electric car is 800,000 kilometres compared to 250,000 for your average Toyota Probox. And this is just the beginning.

Electrifying the Future

There are several important variables underpinning the shifts we can anticipate during the transition from Kenya’s Vision 2030 to the real world Kenya of the year 2030. The expansion of transport and communication infrastructure will gather speed, attracting a diversified portfolio of external and domestic investment that goes beyond the rent and resource capture focus discussed above. There is no guarantee that socioeconomic conditions in the north will be amenable to such projections. Cultivating an active culture of constitutionalsm is essential if the new legal framework is to translate into adaptive governance—a prerequisite for levelling differentials arising out of a century of high-and-low state policy.

The region’s leaders and brain trust are going to have to take the lead in sorting its internal problems. The formation of the Frontier Counties Development Council (FCDC) is a promising development on this front. It also follows that a more peaceful Horn of Africa region and stabilization of cross-border regions are equally essential for rangeland progress. The expansion of the CEWARN cross-border conflict early warning system and related peace infrastructure initiatives taking root on the ground are also promising developments that will help counter the spatial divide and support more participatory democracy.

They are also finding out that implementation of constitutional provisions for community land and redressing historical injustices, along with the new bill of rights, have been put on the back burner.

There are two other forces that make conventional assumptions about the futurology of northern Kenya a precarious proposition. One is the nation’s unprecedented demographic surge. Rangeland districts hosted the highest birthrates tabulated in the 2009 census and this demographic bulge is driving a socioeconomic de-coupling from the pattern of incremental change on the national scale. The usual measures for alleviating marginal areas’ post independence malaise will not get the job done for the current generation coming of age on the periphery.

Technological change is the real game changer now. But the potential impact of developments in this domain remains problematic, especially for low-tech regions where the digital divide is replacing longstanding spatial and policy-based determinants of inequality. Those who think the often-uncomfortable implications of artificial intelligence, automation, and other avatars of technological efficiency for employment and society in general are limited to the industrial West are sorely deluded.

We are witnessing only the early manifestations of the data-driven technological revolution that include machine learning, cognitive computing, and a range of other more basic technological applications that are reaching into virtually every niche and crevice of economic activity. Technological innovation will be equally critical for enhancing traditional pastoralist livestock production, the management of water, animal health, and conserving the natural resource base. Most importantly are the implications of the information economy and new educational and training methodologies for the unleashing the potential of the human population.

Twenty years after John Githongo’s perceptive observations on the relationship between altitude and class in Kenya, the Digital Divide is the new High and Low. Or, as one sectoral expert recently observed, before the most basic requirement for human existence used to be food and water; now it is food, water, and electricity.

The same problem followed construction of the Turkwell Dam, where local Turkana and Pokot children study by lantern light while the highpower lines overhead deliver power to downcountry consumers.

For the frontier counties, access to electricity is key to harnessing fast moving developments in the field of information and data based technologies. Even the oil industry now employs more data scientists than geologists. The electricity economy is consumer and environmental friendly, increasingly decentralized, and can integrate many different large and small sources of power into highly reliable power grids.

The catch-up strategy for Kenya’s marginalised lowlands and coastal counties will arguably require the overhauling of the rigid education system and remaking it in line with a well-informed curriculum relevant to contemporary issues. But the provision of electricity is the essential enabling factor for the education sector and other local developmental priorities.

If electrifying the rangelands is a test case for the larger region’s process of highland-lowland integration, the current prospects are not encouraging. Kenya Power and Electric Company’s Last Mile Connectivity Project will connect some 312,500 households to the grid, but mainly in peri-urban and other densely populated areas in all counties. European donor funding will help connect another 296,647 households. The company has also subsidized connections for close to 800,000 low-income residents in informal settlements.

Expanding the consumer base and finding markets for the increasing supply is critical for the profitability of the majority state-owned corporation. With new energy generation projects coming on line across the region, the capital-intensive infrastructure for delivering the electricity is a significant constraint. The scale of front-end investment required to expand the national grid partially explains why Nairobi still accounts for 50 per cent of Kenya’s electricity consumption.

The expanding rate of connections is still modest compared to the country’s population growth rate. Kenya has a comprehensive energy sector road map but political interests unfortunately take precedence over technocratic implementation. Supplying outlying regions will be a slow process despite the importance of access to electricity for rectifying historical inequalities dividing the nation.

The absence of meaningful consultation and provisions for at least some local distribution of the power generated are primary reasons why the Lake Turkana Wind Farm is turning out to be a backhanded example of how not to go about closing the gap.

Renewable energy initially seemed to be a win-win proposition, but examples like the Marsabit problem illustrate why its proving more complicated. Technical and economic challenges have dominated the movement towards the planet’s renewable energy future. Local opposition in areas across Europe, the USA, and developing areas now underscore why project planners need to direct equal attention to public attitudes, local benefits, interference with established lifestyles, and impacts on the landscapes affected.

The absence of meaningful consultation and provisions for at least some local distribution of the power generated are primary reasons why the Lake Turkana Wind Farm is turning out to be a backhanded example of how not to go about closing the gap.

The ticket for illuminating much of Africa instead lies with a new crop of creative off-grid options for the region’s low density and scattered population. Methods allowing households to divert money spent on kerosene and candles to purchase solar panels is a major factor behind the spread of innovative start-ups based on a range of adaptive micro-level methods now delivering power to many poorer households.

The problem is not just about catching-up. The former Northern Frontier District, or the New Frontier for Development according to switched-on young northerners, is together with adjacent areas of Ethiopia and South Sudan home to the world’s most diverse collection of indigenous peoples. Empowering these communities will bring a new set of problem-solving energies, social values, and fresh ideas to the region’s stale developmental model with its inherited legacy of class, conflict, marginalization, and social exclusion.

This article appeared in the second issue of The Northerner

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Mr. Goldsmith is an American researcher and writer who has lived in Kenya for over 40 years.

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A DARK TRUTH: The racist dynamic at the heart of Kenya’s conservation practices and policies

MORDECAI OGADA explains why black Africans are almost completely absent in the field of conservation in Kenya, which has been hijacked by whites and foreigners who pander to prejudices that have been cultivated by romantic or colonial notions about Africa and its wildlife.

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A DARK TRUTH: The racist dynamic at the heart of Kenya’s conservation practices and policies

The practice of conservation and the narrative around African wildlife is a kingdom, albeit without a single monarch. The monarchy and nobility consist of an eclectic mix of royalty, commoners, idlers, misfits, scientists, killers (who refer to themselves as “hunters”) across a very broad spectrum of backgrounds. We have youthful cowboys in their 20s, and we have octogenarians. There are also wealthy lords and scruffy backpackers. The one thread that links them is the fact that they are all white.

Their race is also what confers upon them a unity of purpose and mutual sympathy in lands where the indigenous majority are black. This kingdom is absolute and doesn’t tolerate dissent from its subjects. Those who serve the kingdom faithfully are rewarded with senior positions in the technical (not policy) arena and international awards and are showered with praise and backhanded compliments in descriptions like “being switched on”, “a good chap”, and best of all, “a reformed poacher”. This praise also manifests itself in the form of the Tusk Conservation Award, which is conferred annually by the Duke of Cambridge, HRH Prince William, on the local conservationist who best serves as an implementer or enforcer of the kingdom’s conservation goals.

Structured conservation practice in East Africa began largely when demobilised World War II soldiers started looking for a field where they could apply one of the few skills they had gained in the war (shooting) without harming people. The rise of the conservation officer or protector was actually preceded by the establishment of the first hunting reserves at the turn of the century a few decades earlier.

However, there was a new recognition that the resource was finite and needed to be preserved for the exclusive use of the colonial nobility that was necessarily defined by race; hence the need for enforcement. Exploitation of African wildlife by Western consumers began in the early 1900s with hunting safaris, which were basically tests of resilience and skill with the target of harvesting the biggest and largest number from this bounty under pretty harsh and rustic conditions. It was closely followed in the 1960s by the photographic safari and cinematography that cemented the romanticism of these adventures in the African wild. This led to a spurt in tourist interest, which no doubt pleased the foreign exchange-hungry newly independent states.

Intellectual desert

Two major pitfalls arose from the romantic age between 1950 and1970 – pitfalls that continue to determine how wildlife conservation is practised today. The first major pitfall was the illogical link and valuation of wildlife based on tourists’ appreciation and (where hunting was allowed) consumption. The second pitfall was the firm placement of black Africans as “props” who were destined never to be equal intellectual participants in the management of and discourse around African wildlife. Thus my compulsion to describe Kenya (rather harshly, in some of my readers’ estimation) as an “intellectual desert” as far as wildlife conservation is concerned.

Two major pitfalls arose from the romantic age between 1950 and1970 – pitfalls that continue to determine how wildlife conservation is practised today. The first major pitfall was the illogical link and valuation of wildlife based on tourists’ appreciation and (where hunting was allowed) consumption. The second pitfall was the firm placement of black Africans as “props” who were destined never to be equal intellectual participants in the management of and discourse around African wildlife.

Indeed, photographic and hunting safaris have since then included a very obvious but unspoken element of domination over black Africans – we can see it in the nameless black faces in white hunters’ photographs and in the postures of servile African staff attending to white tourists in the advertising brochures. Black Africans are totally absent as clients in all the media and advertising materials and campaigns. When hunting was legal in Kenya, it was normal for a photograph of a hunter with his guides, porters and gun bearer to be captioned: “Major F. Foggybottom and a fine leopard bagged in the Maasai Mara region of Kenya, September, 1936.” Fast forward 80 years or so. Black Africans are prominent in their absence from the reams and hours of literature and footage on Africa’s spectacular wildlife. The uniformity of this anomaly is startling across the board, whether one is watching the Discovery channel, BBC, or National Geographic.

With the advance of neoliberalism, market forces have become important drivers of both tacit and explicit policies all over the world. In African conservation policy and practice, the black African has become like an insidious impurity that sometimes leaks into the final product but should ideally be absent in anything considered “premium”. This is not to say that media houses and marketing firms are deliberately engaging in racial discrimination; however, they are, sadly, pandering to prejudices that have been cultivated by romantic or colonial notions about Africa and its wildlife.

The colour bar

Blatant racism becomes much more evident in the conservation field, which in Kenya is dominated by whites. From a strictly academic standpoint, the open discrimination and obvious colour bar evident in the conservation sector in Kenya is fascinating for two major reasons: one is its longevity – business, agriculture, banking, education and all other fields have changed beyond recognition in the last few decades, but conservation remains firmly in the “Victorian gamekeeper” mode, where conservation is basically about protecting wildlife from the proletariat so that the nobles can consume the same for luxury/ recreational purposes.

The second is the acceptance of this status quo by senior indigenous state officials and technical experts across the board. Wildlife conservation is the one field where highly-qualified black Africans are routinely supervised by white practitioners of far lesser technical pedigree or experience. Indeed, some of the supervisors are American or Europeans relatively new to Kenya and with very rudimentary knowledge (if any) of Kenyan wildlife and ecosystems. Examples that come to mind are the appointment of one Peter Hetz (MSc, American) as Executive Director of the Laikipia Wildlife Forum in 2011 to supervise one Mordecai Ogada (PhD, Kenyan) who was appointed as Deputy Director. The recent appointment of Mr. Jochen Zeitz to the Kenya Wildlife Service (KWS) board is another case in point. Here I have used very pointed racial references because it is quite simply a racial divide. We simply do not find non-Caucasian foreigners in wildlife leadership positions in Kenya, nor do we find Latin Americans or Asians. We also don’t find Kenyans of European descent in any of the subordinate roles.

Wildlife conservation is the one field where highly-qualified black Africans are routinely supervised by white practitioners of far lesser technical pedigree or experience. Indeed, some of the supervisors are American or Europeans relatively new to Kenya and with very rudimentary knowledge (if any) of Kenyan wildlife and ecosystems.

How, an observer might ask, is this hierarchy maintained without any disruption by the growing number of indigenous Kenyans pursuing advanced studies in the conservation field? How do the academic exertions of all these technicians fail to moisten the intellectual desert in Kenyan conservation?

One reason is because, just like water never produces vegetation on seedless ground, the intellectual barrenness of indigenous Kenyans has been built into the training facilities and curricula. It goes without saying that Kenya’s ecological diversity and abundant wildlife are key pillars in the country’s economic, social and cultural identity, but Moi University, the de facto leading local institution in this field, only offers a degree course in “wildlife management”, which basically equips local wildlife practitioners to be technicians or foot soldiers for conservation, not to be fully engaged with any of the intellectual challenges that exist in the sector. Those who are better trained and experienced in this field are a small minority who seldom find acceptance in the sector because they inherently threaten the existing hierarchy.

KWS itself has two training facilities: the Manyani field school and a well-resourced training institute in Naivasha. Manyani is a proven centre of excellence in tactical field training necessary for wildlife rangers. The Naivasha training institute, which was established in 1985 to develop the “soft skills” and policy thinking around conservation and fisheries, changed in 2009 when it began offering rudimentary naturalist and paraecologist courses more geared towards serving the tourism industry than the cause of conservation. As one would expect, the academic contribution of this institution to tourism falls so short of the standards required by Kenya’s highly developed tourism industry that in the final analysis, it is a lost investment. One of its more recent distinctions is the levels of academic performance advertised on its website as requirements for admission, which are far below what an institution training custodians of any country’s most valuable resource should be.

Closer analysis of these institutions and their low intellectual ceilings reveals a far subtler, but important, perspective on the colour bar in Kenyan conservation. The people being trained in these institutions are replacing the gun bearers and gamekeepers of feudal England and colonial Kenya.

Kenya as a nation still struggles with this colour bar and our public arena is replete with the symptoms of it. One that stands out is the dropping of charges against the late Tom Cholmondeley for the killing of Samson Ole Sisina, a KWS officer, at the scene of an industrial bushmeat harvesting and processing operation on the former’s Soysambu ranch. Those familiar with Kenyan society know that the killing of a security officer on duty is a (judicial or extrajudicial) death sentence in Kenya 99.99% of the time. The truth is that there were absolutely no mitigating circumstances here, other than the victim’s race. Barely a year later, in May 2006, Cholmondeley shot and killed Robert Njoya, a stonemason who lived in a village that borders his 50,000-acre estate, a crime for which he was jailed in 2009 following public uproar.

Closer analysis of these institutions and their low intellectual ceilings reveals a far subtler, but important, perspective on the colour bar in Kenyan conservation. The people being trained in these institutions are replacing the gun bearers and gamekeepers of feudal England and colonial Kenya.

More recently, in January 2018, there was a memorial service for the late Gilfrid Powys, a renowned rancher, conservationist, and KWS honorary warden. The service was attended by a plethora of top brass from KWS in full uniform, as well as several government leaders, as befitted his status in society. I suspect many in the congregation were taken aback when one of the eulogisers, Mr. Willy Potgieter, read a long and touching tribute where he detailed how the departed wasn’t a particularly religious man but would indulge his spirituality by hunting buffalo every Sunday morning. The discomfiture of the uniformed staff and company gathered was palpable and would have been amusing had it not been such a stark testament to the existence of conservation apartheid in our country and our society’s acceptance thereof.

Sanitised terminology

Apartheid in conservation matters. The duplicity that exists within many people and institutions purported to be dedicated to conservation may seem bizarre to those unfamiliar with the sector. Here is how it works: Basic psychological examination of wildlife hunting reveals that it is a uniquely complex aspect of human endeavour because it occurs at both ends of the spectrum of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Subsistence hunting is firmly at the bottom of the hierarchy as it fulfils physiological needs while sport hunting is at the top, within the realm of self-actualisation. This is illustrated by the celebrated blood sports of falconry and fox hunting pursued by royalty in the Middle East and Britain, respectively.

The highly sanitised terminology is also in striking contrast to the derogatory terms like “bushmeat poaching” used in reference to subsistence hunting. This highlights the role of the media in cultivating the racial divide because in Africa the term “poacher” or “bushmeat” is never applied to the activities or diets of people of European descent, regardless of legality.

Likewise, the term “hunter” is never applied to the activities of black people. These three degrees of separation in the hierarchy of needs are the basis of the colour bar. They are the reasons behind the flawed belief that we can allow white people to kill (not poach) wildlife and shoot black people suspected of being “poachers”. This is also the basis of the ongoing nonsensical scheme of a “task force” going around Kenya trying to gather support for proposed “consumptive use” of wildlife, an activity de facto delineated by race. It stands to even casual examination that the practice of structured legal hunting of wildlife in Kenya (and much of Africa) is an activity controlled by, and indulged in, by people of Caucasian extraction.

The highly sanitised terminology is also in striking contrast to the derogatory terms like “bushmeat poaching” used in reference to subsistence hunting. This highlights the role of the media in cultivating the racial divide because in Africa the term “poacher” or “bushmeat” is never applied to the activities or diets of people of European descent, regardless of legality.

It also goes without saying that the colour bar we live with in Kenyan conservation is an anachronism that we should have escaped from in the mid-20th century. But before we can achieve that freedom, we must squarely face up to the problem and appreciate its full extent. It is systemic.

When the board chairmanship of KWS fell vacant about four years ago, our government turned, almost reflexively, to the ageing Dr Richard Leakey, who is no longer at his physical or intellectual best, and who, in my view, is not even the best candidate for the job. The spectacular failure, frantic inactivity, and deafening silence on conservation issues that characterised Dr Leakey’s last tenure at KWS came as no surprise to those of us familiar with the man’s capabilities. The most poignant memory of this is a photo of Leakey posing with the black board members holding tusks beside him – an image that evoked memories of the “great white hunter” of yore. The photo itself was taken during the torching of 105 tonnes of ivory in 2016, a fairly logical conservation activity, but the carefully structured pose shows a board composed of people who have no knowledge or reading of the history and culture around wildlife conservation in Kenya. If they had even rudimentary knowledge of the history of conservation practice in Kenya, they would have recognised that their photo was misplaced in space and time. There is little doubt that Leakey (and possibly Brian Heath, in the back left, distancing himself from the ivory) were aware of this nuance and were the only intellectual participants in this photo – and therein lies a snapshot of our enduring tragedy.

The intellectual desert that is Kenya’s conservation sector remains as barren as ever in 2018. The sporadic and disjointed efforts to moisten it with sprinklers will all come to nought unless we concurrently plant the seeds of indigenous knowledge and expertise.

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Bobi Wine and the Politics of Revolution

ISAAC OTIDI AMUKE documents the rise of the “Ghetto President” who has become a person of particular interest to the Ugandan state. By ISAAC OTIDI AMUKE

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Bobi Wine and the Politics of Revolution

‘‘I believe in the politics of friendship. Without the politics of friendship there can be no radical movement.’’ – Srecko Horvat

‘‘…struggles, incarcerations and whistle blowing bring people together through friendship to try and do something. Will we succeed? Who knows! Who cares! What matters is the actual process of trying to do it… the chances may not be good. But we have the moral obligation to try’’

– Yanis Varoufakis

It came as a huge relief to many – especially to his wife Barbara and their four children – to learn that the highly popular Ugandan musician and MP for Kyaddondo East, Robert Kyagulanyi Ssentamu – popularly known as Bobi Wine – was still alive following his dramatic night arrest on August 13, 2018 in Arua town, Northern Uganda. The country’s political machinery – including President Yoweri Kaguta Museveni of the ruling National Resistance Movement (NRM) and Dr. Kizza Besigye Kifefe of the opposition’s Forum for Democratic Change (FDC) – had descended on Arua Municipality to drum up support for their respective candidates in a hotly contested by-election necessitated by the June 8, 2018 shooting to death of the incumbent MP, Ibrahim Abiriga, a Museveni loyalist who was killed alongside his bodyguard by hitmen riding on a motorcycle.

Kyagulanyi, who some say appears to have been flirting with the idea of establishing a people’s movement – a third force of sorts away from the Museveni-Besigye historical antagonism – arrived in Arua with clarity of purpose. Lately, he had been preaching that Uganda’s problems would not be solved through adherence to political party positions, and had been urging his supporters to think of broader formations, a proposition which sounded a little vague and amorphous.

On arriving in Arua, Kyagulanyi chose to back a different candidate from those backed by the big boys, Besigye and Museveni. Addressing a packed rally, he acknowledged that the divided opposition risked losing the seat to Museveni’s NRM, seeing that the crowded field of contestants had five individuals who passed for progressives. The way out, he suggested, was if the opposition overwhelmingly voted for the most suitable candidate out of the five. He endorsed Kassiano Wadri, a onetime MP and parliamentary whip in Besigye’s FDC, who ran as an independent. On August 15, Wadri won the seat from his prison cell.

Two notable events happened during the final round of campaigns in Arua. The first was when Kyagulanyi led a huge procession of cheering supporters – him riding atop a vehicle and urging his followers on – past a relatively well-attended Besigye rally, forcing the former army colonel to cut short his speech and wait for the noise to subside, seeing that the uninvited guests had overpowered the strength of his microphone. The whole episode had a somewhat humiliating effect on Besigye, the long-time undisputed symbol of opposition politics in Uganda. He nevertheless maintained a straight face, eventually succumbing to a group dance once the music started playing, seeing that the only way to ignore the intruders was by getting busy.

The second incident took place when President Museveni’s convoy was driving out of Arua and passed a group of supposed Kyagulanyi supporters who jeered the head of state. However, according to Museveni’s version of events, as posted on his Facebook page, his convoy was stoned, resulting in the shattering of the rear window of his official vehicle. It was this second event that resulted in Kyagulanyi’s troubles.

In a hurried tweet sent on the fateful August 13 night, Kyagulanyi released a photo of the lifeless body of his driver, Yasiin Kawuma, shot inside the MP’s vehicle. “Police has shot my driver dead thinking they’ve shot me. My hotel is cordoned of…” read part of the tweet. The message was perturbing. Kyagulanyi’s followers expected more updates from him but none came.

The following day, news broke that the MP had been arrested, alongside 33 of his colleagues on the Arua campaign trail, their whereabouts remaining a mystery. It was alleged that Kyagulanyi had been found in possession of a gun in his hotel room, and was being charged with treason before a military court. There were fears that he and his colleagues had been heavily tortured.

In a hurried tweet sent on the fateful August 13 night, Kyagulanyi released a photo of the lifeless body of his driver, Yasiin Kawuma, shot inside the MP’s vehicle. “Police has shot my driver dead thinking they’ve shot me. My hotel is cordoned of…” read part of the tweet. The message was perturbing. Kyagulanyi’s followers expected more updates from him but none came.

***

Kyagulanyi became a person of particular interest to the Ugandan state following his June 29, 2017 victory in a parliamentary by-election in Kampala. Running as an independent against Museveni’s NRM and Besigye’s FDC, the new kid on the block seemed to have brought with him the multitude of supporters accumulated through his music career, merging showbiz with the new business of commandeering an insurrection in Uganda, shifting from artist to politician and vice versa.

The Ghetto President – Kyagulanyi’s other moniker – had taken Uganda’s political establishment by storm, and possibly by surprise, some having imagined that the satirical (or not) ghetto presidency had no tangible political implication. However, the residents of Kyaddondo East – the real and proverbial ghetto Kyagulanyi governed – showed through the ballot that his “presidency” was real.

One of the early signs that Kyagulanyi would prove troublesome to the Museveni regime was his defiant and confrontational conduct during the debate to abolish the presidential age limit, a sneaky NRM-driven amendment that sought to scrap a constitutional provision barring anyone beyond 75 years of age from contesting for the country’s presidency. For the NRM, it was necessary to leave a window of possibility open for Museveni were he to entertain thoughts of participating in future elections. Kyagulanyi, as part of the opposition’s Red Beret movement, became a star attraction when violence broke out, turning parliament’s debating chamber into a boxing ring.

Photographed and filmed physically facing off with overzealous state security agents who breached parliamentary protocol and sneaked in to manhandle opposition MPs, Kyagulanyi engaged in fist fights with Museveni’s henchmen, who seemed to have marked him as a prime target. When the same series of events were repeated a second time, Kyagulanyi uprooted a microphone stand and used it as a weapon against the security men, proving that when push came to shove, he was willing to use his fists in defending the things he believed in. Museveni took note.

***

Kyagulanyi had only been an MP for a year when a new group of pundits began comparing him to the FDC’s Besigye. The young MP was holding massive rallies wherever he went in Uganda, a spectacle previously seen as a preserve of the consummate FDC leader. Suddenly, Besigye appeared to have a challenger for the opposition’s throne.

Before Arua, there had been a number of other by-elections in Jinja East, Bugiri, then Rukungiri, Besigye’s home district. In an interesting turn of events, Besigye’s FDC candidate won Jinja East, with Bugiri going to Kyagulanyi’s candidate. However, when it was Rukungiri’s turn, Besigye and Kyagulanyi combined forces and campaigned together for the victory of the FDC candidate. In his party’s acceptance speech in Rukungiri, Besigye said that the election was won not because they had the numbers but because of defiance, and thanked Kyagulanyi for his support, a clear acknowledgement that the veteran appreciated the capabilities of the rookie. It is through these successive by-elections that Kyagulanyi got an early chance to test his support outside of Kampala.

Kyagulanyi had only been an MP for a year when a new group of pundits began comparing him to the FDC’s Besigye. The young MP was holding massive rallies wherever he went in Uganda, a spectacle previously seen as a preserve of the consummate FDC leader. Suddenly, Besigye appeared to have a challenger for the opposition’s throne.

Upon Kyagulanyi’s arrest in Arua on the night of August 13, among those who demanded for his immediate release were Besigye and other leading FDC figures, including Kampala’s Mayor Erias Lukwago, who was acting as one of Kyagulanyi’s attorneys, and the former head of Uganda’s military and FDC stalwart Major General Mugisha Muntu, who stood front and centre in his defense.

Yet the Besigye-Kyagulanyi comparisons wouldn’t go away, even at this dicey time. On leaving Kampala’s Lubaga Cathedral on August 22, where prayers were being held for Kyagulanyi, a journalist asked Besigye if he might be a stumbling block to the young MP’s political project for Uganda. ‘‘People have to get this clear,’’ Besigye said. “I am not contesting for any seat and there is no leadership contest between Kyagulanyi and I.”

From the cathedral, Besigye headed for a night radio interview, where he furthered the gospel of freeing Kyagulanyi. The following morning, on August 23, Besigye took to social media to post familiar photos of police vehicles barricading the road leading to his home in Kampala’s Kasangati area in an effort to block him from standing in solidarity with Kyagulanyi, who was being presented before court. The residences of Mayor Erias Lukwago and Ingrid Turinawe, the head of the FDC’s Women’s League, were also cordoned-off. Coincidentally, a 2016 video of a defiant Turinawe confronting policemen and throwing open roadblock spikes placed outside the road to Besigye’s home had been trending.

***

In reading Ugandan journalist Daniel Kalinaki’s book Kizza Besigye and Uganda’s Unfinished Revolution, one realises that fighting Museveni is not a walk in the park. Detailing the early days of the National Resistance Army (NRA) – later NRM – bush war, Kalinaki takes one on the long journey Besigye travelled as a comrade of Museveni before the two fell out. Besigye had come to realise that Museveni had gone rogue and had started to shop around for comrades who were courageous enough to stand up to the latter’s fast growing dictatorship.

In an interesting turn of events, Besigye even asked his wife, Oxfam’s executive director, Winnie Byanyima, if she thought she could lead the onslaught. When everyone else thought they weren’t ready yet to lead the revolt, Besigye grudgingly decided to be the man of the moment, starting a journey that would take him to prison, exile and back, which cost him broken limbs and more.

There is no doubt that Kyagulanyi has become a political sensation in Uganda. It also has to be said that depending on how things go – considering factors within and outside his control – he may have a truly bright future as an important leader in the struggle for the liberation of Uganda.

However, throughout this period of his detention, and looking back at his meteoric rise as one of Uganda’s most visible opposition figures, one wonders what this moment portends for Kyagulanyi, since, as many had predicted, it was only a question of when – and not if – Museveni would strike back with the might of his state security apparatus. It is in looking at individuals like Besigye – on whose shoulders Kyagulanyi must stand, one way or another – where some answers, certainly not all, will arise. It is the likes of Besigye, who have travelled this road before and who refused to compromise, who may offer Kyagulanyi some clarity. It is through such associations that Kyagulanyi may learn how to navigate certain difficult terrains. Kalinaki’s book shows how a youthful Besigye was forced to make tough choices the moment he chose to oppose Museveni, lessons that Kyagulanyi can benefit from.

There is no doubt that Kyagulanyi has become a political sensation in Uganda. It also has to be said that depending on how things go – considering factors within and outside his control – he may have a truly bright future as an important leader in the struggle for the liberation of Uganda.

***

In “wanting to stress that we live in dangerous times in which everyone opposed to the political and financial powers might soon become targets”, a unique series of events held in July 2016 titled ‘‘First They Came for Assange’’ happened simultaneously across 14 cities, marking four years since WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange sought refuge at the Ecuadorian Embassy in London. It was during such an event in Brussels that Greece’s former Finance Minister, Yanis Varoufakis, while in conversation with the Croatian philosopher Srecko Horvat – both of whom are Assange’s close friends and regular visitors to his place of isolation – said the following:

“We talk about brave people like Julian… all those people that are putting themselves in the line of fire on behalf of that which is good and proper. But there is a lot of cowardice today, friends, ladies and gentlemen. Julian Assange has a problem with his shoulder. Do you know that it is impossible to get a shoulder specialist to come into the embassy and take a look at him? Because they fear they will lose their clientele. We have to remember that human beings are capable of the best and the worst. Our job as a movement is to cultivate the former against the latter.”

Julian Assange may or may not be some people’s ideal example of a freedom fighter, but there is no denying the fact that through his continued isolation at the Ecuadorian Embassy in London, he has become a contemporary example of how persecution can be meted out on an individual for reasons directly or indirectly linked to their revolutionary actions and beliefs.

Importantly, the words by Varoufakis underline one truism that is apparent as we witness the overwhelming outpouring of support for Kyagulanyi. With hundreds, if not thousands, using his silhouette as their profile picture on social media, we must come to the conclusion that there can be no successful revolution in these times we live in – where everyday struggles push us into little survival cocoons – without the politics of revolution embracing the politics of friendship. Even a retweet or an M-Pesa contribution can trickle into a massive pot of support that may just turn the tide.

The journey will be long and tedious – especially after Kyagulanyi’s release.

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BATTLE FOR THE PEARL: Bobi Wine, Museveni and the future of Uganda

President Museveni successfully thwarted political opposition until Bobi Wine came along and posed a formidable challenge to the ageing leader’s ambitions. By ERIASA SSERUNJOGI

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BATTLE FOR THE PEARL: Bobi Wine, Museveni and the future of Uganda

Thirty-six years ago, in 1982, the year Bobi Wine was born, Uganda’s President Yoweri Museveni was busy commanding the war that eventually led him to power. At 36, Museveni had run for president in 1980 as a rabble-rouser representing the new Uganda Patriotic Movement (UPM).

His party did not even stand an outside chance of winning the election, with Milton Obote’s Uganda People’s Congress (UPC) and Paul Ssemogerere’s Democratic Party (DP) being the hot favourites. In the end, Museveni even failed to win his own parliamentary seat. During the campaigns, he had warned that he would start a war should the election be rigged, and he did indeed start a war after UPC controversially claimed the election for itself amidst claims that DP had won.

Paulo Muwanga, who was the head of the interim Military Commission government on which Museveni served as Deputy Minister for Defence, had arrogated himself the powers that were entrusted in the Electoral Commission to announce election results, returning UPC as the winner, with Obote proceeding to form a government for the second time, having been earlier deposed by Idi Amin in 1971.

Museveni had watched the intrigue and power play and how the gun had emerged as the decisive factor in Ugandan politics since 1966. He had decided early in life that his route to power would be through the barrel of the gun. His determination to employ the gun became manifest when he launched a war against Amin’s new government in the early 1970s.

Museveni’s Fronasa fighters were part of the combined force that was backed by the Tanzanian army to flush out Amin in 1979. Also among the fighting forces was a group that was loyal to Obote. Museveni’s and Obote’s forces and other groups were looking for ways to outsmart one another as they fought the war. It was a time when Bobi Wine was not yet born.

Bobi Wine (real name Robert Kyagulanyi), who has been a Member of Parliament for just a year, has followed a different path. He is one of those Ugandans who believe that Museveni should be the last Ugandan leader to access power through the barrel of the gun. He wants future leaders to work their way into the hearts of Ugandans and convince them that they can take the country forward.

Bobi Wine first rose to popularity through music. Even though the popstar is new to Ugandan politics, he has for over a decade been disseminating political messages through his songs, in which he positions himself as a poor man’s freedom fighter.

Bobi Wine (real name Robert Kyagulanyi), who has been a Member of Parliament for just a year, has followed a different path. He is one of those Ugandans who believe that Museveni should be the last Ugandan leader to access power through the barrel of the gun.

Through his music, he has criticised the government when he felt it sold the people short; he has castigated the Kampala City authorities over throwing vendors and other poor people off the streets; and he has sought to encourage Ugandans, especially the youth, to take charge of their destiny.

“When freedom of expression becomes the target of oppression,” Bobi Wine said in one of his songs, “opposition becomes our position.” That was before he joined active politics.

When he married in 2011, he made sure that the marriage was celebrated by the Archbishop of the Catholic Church in the capital. When he was incarcerated recently, there were prayers for him at Rubaga Cathedral, the seat of the Catholic Church in Uganda. Catholics are the biggest religious grouping in the country.

Bobi Wine was born in Gomba, one of the counties of Buganda, the biggest ethnic group in Uganda. He has worked his way into the Buganda king’s heart, dubbing himself “Omubanda wa Kabaka” (the King’s Rasta man).

In Uganda’s music industry, Bobi Wine and his “Fire Base Crew” rose to the very top in their category, with Bobi Wine calling himself the “Ghetto President”, whose retinue included a “Vice President”, a cabinet and other members. He also has a security detail. His chief personal bodyguard – Eddie Sebuufu, aka Eddie Mutwe – was picked up at night by suspected military operatives on August 24, 2018.

Bobi Wine has over the past decade traversed the country where he has been performing as an artiste. Then, shortly after his election to Parliament, he travelled to many places within the country to introduce himself this time as a politician. He enjoys name recognition across the country that no Ugandan politician of his age and experience can command.

Battle for the youth

Bobi Wine plays the music that many Ugandan youth want to listen to, but he also preaches the gospel of change and prosperity in a way that is attracting crowds to him. He was born in rural central Uganda but he moved into a shanty neighbourhood of Kampala early in life, struggling through what most young people in the city experience. Although he went school up to university level, he went through all the hassles that young Ugandans go through. He speaks their language.

The Uganda Bureau of Statistics (UBOS) projects that at the mid-point of this year, Uganda had 39,041,200 people. Of these, only 648,000 people were projected to be 70-years-old or older. This means that Museveni, at 74 years of age, is among a lucky 1.7 per cent of Ugandans who are alive at the age of 70 or above. In fact, only 450,500 people, or 1.2 per cent of Ugandans, according to the UBOS projection, are as old as Museveni or older.

Reliable numbers on employment in Uganda are hard to come by but it is generally agreed that the country has one of the highest youth unemployment rates in the world. Museveni’s opponents often cite his age to make the point to the youth that their future is not safe with a 74-year-old leader who has been in power for 32 years.

The Uganda Bureau of Statistics (UBOS) projects that at the mid-point of this year, Uganda had 39,041,200 people. Of these, only 648,000 people were projected to be 70-years-old or older. This means that Museveni, at 74 years of age, is among a lucky 1.7 per cent of Ugandans who are alive at the age of 70 or above.

Museveni being Museveni – the Maradona of Uganda’s politics – has tried to tilt the debate on age to his advantage. He has, for instance, distinguished between “biological age” and “ideological age”, saying that many Ugandans are young biologically but very old ideologically. He has identified “ideological disorientation” as one of Uganda’s “strategic bottlenecks”, positioning his “ideological youth” as the solution. For one to be “ideologically young”, Museveni says, one needs to have the right ideas and mindset on how to transform society. He regards himself as a master in that. He says biological age is of no consequence in politics.

In his State of the Nation address last year, the Ugandan president said staying in power for long – and therefore being old – is a good thing because the leader gains immense experience along the way. In the wake of the recent arrest of Bobi Wine and 32 others who were charged with treason after allegations of stoning the president’s motorcade, Museveni wrote at least six messages on social media addressed to “fellow countrymen, countrywomen and bazzukulu (grandchildren)”. He now takes comfort in addressing many of his voters and opponents as grandchildren.

The choice of social media (especially Facebook and Twitter) as the preferred way of transmitting the president’s messages also raised debate. From July 1, social media users had a daily tax imposed on them because the president said people used the platforms for rumour-mongering. Many social media users have avoided the tax by installing virtual private networks (VPNs) on their handsets and so the “rumour-mongering” on social media continues. Since younger people spend a lot of time on social media, their septuagenarian president has decided to follow them there. Whenever he has addressed them as “grandchildren”, there have been hilarious responses in the comments section.

Beyond the debates, Museveni has in past election campaigns come up with a number of things to attract the youth, including recording something akin to a rap song in the lead-up the 2011 elections. But if it is about music, Museveni now faces Bobi Wine, a man less than half his age who has spent all his adult life as a popular musician.

Museveni’s government has tried one thing after another in an attempt to provide the jobs that young people badly need, with initiatives ranging from setting up a heavily financed, but highly ineffectual, youth fund in the ministry of Gender, Labour and Social Development. After the 2016 elections, in which Museveni suffered the heaviest defeat in Kampala City and its environs, he set out to dish out cash to youth groups to promote their businesses. Not much has come out of this initiative.

When he shot to power in 1986, Museveni rebuked leaders who overstayed their welcome, saying that the vice was at the root of Africa’s problems. As time went by, and with him still in power, he changed his views. He now says that he actually prefers leaders who stay in power for long periods. Museveni’s opponents latch onto such contradictions as they keep piling up.

Is it Bobi Wine’s turn?

Over the last 32 years that he has been around, Museveni has had a number of challengers and Bobi Wine is now threatening to storm the stage as the new kid on the block.

When he shot to power in 1986, Museveni rebuked leaders who overstayed their welcome, saying that the vice was at the root of Africa’s problems. As time went by, and with him still in power, he changed his views. He now says that he actually prefers leaders who stay in power for long periods.

Many of the people who were in the trenches with Museveni in the earlier years and who dreamt of picking the baton of leadership from him have dropped their ambitions because age and/or other circumstances have come into play as Museveni stayed put. Former ministers who once nursed presidential ambitions, like Bidandi Ssali, Amanya Mushega, Prof George Kanyeihamba and even the younger Mike Mukula, for instance, have since retreated to private lives. Others, like Eriya Kategaya and James Wapakhabulo, have passed on.

Of the Bush War comrades who harboured ambitions of taking over from Museveni, only four-time challenger Kizza Besigye and former army commander Mugisha Muntu remain standing, with the largely silent former prime minister Amama Mbabazi thought to be lying in wait for a possible opening.

By staying in power for so long – since January 1986 – Museveni has worn out his ambitious former comrades and perhaps even ensured that the chance to rule the country passes their generation by, a reality that has made it more likely that he will face a challenger who is younger than his own children.

But Museveni will not allow this generation of youth to win. The ruling party consistently stifles the emergence of younger leaders. In the lead-up to the 2016 election, for instance, Museveni’s National Resistance Movement party saw a rare surge in activity championed by younger people. One of Museveni’s in-laws, Odrek Rwabwogo, was among them. Rwabwogo had resorted to penning a string of articles in the partly state-owned New Vision newspaper about how the ruling party’s ideology could be sharpened to take care of the new Uganda. A number of other younger leaders within the party vied for space and expressed their visions in what was interpreted by some as a jostle for a front row seat as Museveni was expected to be standing for his last term in preparation for retirement in 2021.

Then, shortly after returning to power in 2016, Museveni engineered the removal from the Constitution the 75-year cap for presidential candidates, which would make him eligible to run again for as many times as he would be physically able to handle. This was a sure sign that Museveni was not willing to hand over power to a more youthful generation.

Repression heightens

The move to remove the age limit for presidential candidates from the Constitution inevitably invited stiff opposition from those who for decades have worked towards removing Museveni from power. In September last year, army men invaded Parliament and beat up and arrested Members of Parliament who were trying to filibuster the debate and perhaps derail the introduction of the bill to remove the age limit. Two MPs were beaten to a pulp and one of them, Betty Nambooze, has been in and out of hospitals in Kampala and India over broken or dislocated discs in her back.

This unfortunate incident, however, did not stop the State from bringing charges against her when after the shooting to death in June of an MP, Ibrahim Abiriga – who was one of the keenest supporters of the removal of age limits – Nambooze made comments on social media that the State interpreted as illegal. This week she had to report to the police over the matter, but she was informed that the officers were ready to have her charged in court, where she was delivered in an ambulance. She was carted into the courtroom on a wheelchair for the charges to be read out to her before the magistrate granted her bail. She sobbed all the way and afterwards wrote on Facebook that while in court she was “crying for my country”.

Francis Zaake, the other MP who was also was beaten, had to be taken to the US for treatment. He is now being treated again and is set to be fly out of the country due to injuries he sustained during the violence in Arua in which Bobi Wine was also attacked by soldiers of the Special Forces Command that guards the president.

Bobi Wine and 32 others have since been charged with treason but Zaake hasn’t yet – though Museveni has said in one of his statements posted on social media that Zaake escaped from police custody. When he is supposed to have escaped, Zaake was unconscious and could not move or talk. He was reportedly just dropped and dumped at the hospital by unidentified people. The head of the hospital has said that Zaake is at risk of permanent disability because of the damage he suffered to his spinal cord. The authorities say they are waiting for Zaake to recuperate so that he can face charges related to the violence in Arua.

By these callous actions, Museveni has demonstrated how ruthless he can get when his power is challenged. He has referred to the injured MPs as “indisciplined” and has not extended any sympathy towards them.

Those who have dared to challenge Museveni, especially Besigye, have been here before. The new opposition politicians currently in the line of fire, including Bobi Wine, have been served with a dose of what to expect if they push Museveni hard. The decision on how far they are willing to go is now in their court.

It seems that Museveni plans to apply to Bobi Wine the script he has used on Besigye over the past two decades. Apart from being targeted for physical assaults, Bobi Wine will be – and it is already happening – isolated from members of his inner circle, especially those who provide him with physical cover. They will be arrested, intimidated, or offered money to start businesses, a ploy to get them to abandon him. Some, like his driver Yasin Kawuma, who was buried a few weeks ago, will die.

It seems that Museveni plans to apply to Bobi Wine the script he has used on Besigye over the past two decades. Apart from being targeted for physical assaults, Bobi Wine will be – and it is already happening – isolated from members of his inner circle, especially those who provide him with physical cover.

Another thing the Museveni machine will do, and which it has done in the past, is plant fifth columnists around him – men and women who will show immense eagerness to work with Bobi Wine to remove Museveni from power but whose real assignment will be to get him to make mistakes and to spy on him.

It is also to be expected that Museveni will reach out to Bobi Wine with some kind of deal – he seems to offer all his credible opponents proposals for an amicable settlement so that they can drop their political ambitions. It is hard to say whether Museveni has already approached Bobi Wine or not, but there are rumours to that effect.

Ultimately, it will be up to Bobi Wine to decide what he wants to do going forward, but with him fighting for his life in hospital, we dare not predict the future.

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